A Right Jolly Old Imp
by Tribulation Periwinkle
Summary: Mr. Gold's holiday plans spiral out of his control.


**Author's Notes: **My contribution to Tumblr's Rumbelle Secret Santa. This was written for the lovely beadedslipper, who prompted "hanging outside Christmas lights." The hatred expressed here for a certain beloved holiday classic may have something to do with the author's personal opinions. For the love of all that is holy, George Bailey, just jump off the bridge and leave me in peace!

Mr. Gold had never enjoyed the holidays in Storybrooke. The lights were too garish, the carolers were too loud, and the constant shouts of "Merry Christmas" contained an undercurrent of desperation that depressed him. The people of this town, he had realized even while still under the effects of the curse, were not a true community. Their forced gaiety seemed like nothing more than self-delusion—a frantic attempt to convince themselves that there was nothing wrong with their pitiful existence.

Then Emma Swan had come into town, and Mr. Gold had realized exactly why everyone's lives, his own included, seemed so pathetic. Christmas that year was even worse, the emphasis on family and loved ones serving only to remind him that the only two people he cared about were lost to him. And, although he believed he would be reunited with Baelfire eventually, Belle was gone forever.

Having spent the better part of three decades believing Belle dead, Mr. Gold still had little use for Christmas but he did have an overwhelming desire to see Belle happy. And Belle, it turned out, was becoming something of a Christmas enthusiast.

This world's holiday traditions were new for Belle, and she had taken to them as she did to most new things—with a determination to learn every detail and experience every related activity.

Her obsession had started, of course, with books. She quickly read her way through all the usual Christmas stories. Over lunches at Granny's, she related the plots of stories he had vague memories of reading. He tried not to feel too awkward about the fact that she gravitated toward the stories that featured monsters (that ridiculous Grinch character) and unsympathetic businessmen (even he had to admit to seeing the parallel between himself and Scrooge). She then insisted on watching every screen adaptation of the stories she could find. (Only for Belle would he have subjected himself to something entitled "A Muppet Christmas Carol.") After that, she discovered the usual Christmas television fare. Although the part of himself that was still the Dark One took some satisfaction in seeing Ralphie's friend's tongue stick to that frozen flagpole, he really should have drawn the line when they got to "It's a Wonderful Life." Belle might have found that sort of treacle inspiring, but two hours of George Bailey's life in flashbacks made Gold want to toss Jimmy Stewart off that damn bridge himself.

Around Thanksgiving, Belle added Christmas music to her list of obsessions. Gold couldn't complain about this, especially since the way she sang along with music brought back such pleasant memories of the way she had always sung to herself around the Dark Castle when she thought he wasn't paying attention.

The singing was soon accompanied by decorating. Gold had managed to avoid tree trimming for twenty-nine Christmas seasons, but he was surprised to find himself enjoying the ritual. After all, his first identity had been that of spinner and the ribbons, bows and ornaments reminded him of a love of colors and textures that had been dormant for much too long.

Which was just as well, considering the sheer number of buildings Belle was determined to decorate. She had started with a small tree in her apartment, then quickly moved on to the library. Gold had agreed to help her with both projects as a way to spend more time in her company. Trimming the tree in her apartment had been a delightfully private affair, with Belle's ever growing collection of holiday-themed CDs providing a musical accompaniment.

Decorating the library, however, had become something of a community event and therefore was nowhere near as satisfying from Mr. Gold's perspective. Belle, however, had been thrilled to discover how many Storybrooke citizens wanted to help out and look over the library before its grand reopening. As much as he would have preferred having Belle to himself that afternoon, Gold had to admit that he enjoyed seeing the town fall in love with their new librarian.

So he had endured the influx of the Lucases, the Charmings, and all the others who stole Belle's time from him. It was the least she deserved, after all. His Belle deserved friends who loved her; she deserved laughter and sunlight and, because of him, she had spent half her life locked away in dungeons of one sort or another. So he simply sat back on one of those incredibly uncomfortable library chairs and watched Belle charm Storybrooke just as she'd charmed him years before.

He was amply rewarded the next week when Belle decided to decorate the pink house. Once again, he and Belle were alone; Gold had even gone to the trouble of purchasing a few of her favorite Christmas CDs in order to make the evening more festive.

And it was, until Belle decided that trimming a tree wasn't enough. Having seen the other homes in the neighborhood with their garish outdoor lighting displays, Belle had decided she needed to do something similar. The wreath on the door was fine, and he hadn't even balked at the white lights she insisted they string through the trees. He really, however, wanted to draw the line at festooning his windows and porch in multicolored lights and putting something that resembled icicles on the roof.

"It's joyful, Rum," Belle had insisted.

"That's the point," he replied. "I have a reputation to maintain, after all. I'm the Dark One, sweetheart. The Dark One does not do joyful."

Belle had all but smirked at him. "You are capable of doing joyful; I've seen it with my own eyes."

He had reluctantly agreed to Belle's demands for Christmas lights on the house, but only if she allowed them to be installed at a later date. He doubted he could manage the task himself (and when, he wondered, had anyone in this world ever found the words "I can't hang up the Christmas lights, dear, because of my old wound from the First Ogre War" useful). He certainly was not about to let Belle climb up to the roof to hang lights; his heart still got caught in his throat when he thought about the spill she'd taken when she'd decided to take down the curtains in the castle.

So it was that he called Dove into the pawnshop the next day.

"Lights, boss?" The normally unflappable Dove had looked stunned. "Christmas lights? On your house?"

"Christmas lights, yes, Dove. You do understand the concept of Christmas lights?"

"Of course, Mr. Gold. But…on _your _house?"

Gold cleared his throat. Ominously, he hoped. He tried to look his most intimidating. "It's a surprise for Belle."

Light seemed to dawn on Planet Dove. "Oh, yes, sir! For Miss Belle. Of course. Right away, sir."

And that should have been that, except that Dove was as smitten with Belle as the rest of the town was. "Will Miss Belle be at the house while I'm hanging the lights?"

"Given her love of all things Christmas, I doubt I could keep her away," Gold said.

"Well, then, sir, perhaps I should dress up. As Santa. Just to keep things merry."

Few things surprised Gold. His dour bodyguard wanting to dress up as right jolly old elf was one of them.

Then again, the sight of Dove as Santa had the potential to be the funniest thing he'd seen since that time Regina had turned herself into a rat.

"Yes, Dove, dressing as Santa will be acceptable."

And that was where he thought the matter stood—Belle would get her display of Christmas lights (and no doubt his electric bill would double, but that was a deal he could easily live with if Belle was happy), and Dove-as-Santa would add a touch of whimsy.

Which was why Mr. Gold was so surprised to see Leroy and his six friends an hour later.

"How much you paying us, Gold?" Snow White's surly friend asked.

"What on earth would I be paying you for?"

"To impersonate elves. That's what Dove said." The others nodded, blushed and sneezed in agreement. "Look, the only reason we're doing this is because it's for Belle and it's not the poor kid's fault she's got lousy taste in men. Imps. Whatever. We don't even like elves. There's history there."

"There is?"

"Oh, yeah. Going way back. You never read Tolkien?"

"Oh, that. Actually before my time." He shook his head in amazement. "Dove took it on himself to hire the seven of you to play Santa's little helpers, did he?"

"He suggested it. You willing to pay or not?"

The visual of the imposing figure of Dove paired with the not-so-imposing dwarves would have been worth it, Gold decided, even if without the incentive of giving Belle a memorable holiday season.

"Oh, yes, gentlemen," he said. "Shall we negotiate our terms?"

The dwarves, surprisingly, drove a hard bargain. But it was worth it for Belle, even if the thought of letting that damn Blue Fairy go without paying her rent for a month was galling.

But Belle would have her lights, Santa and elves.

Perhaps he could put a CD player outside so she could have her music as well.

No, that wouldn't be good enough, he decided. Before Gold knew it, he had picked up the telephone and was dialing Mary Margaret Blanchard.

"Your highness," he began. (He found it helped to use the old world titles occasionally; they might think of themselves as American these days, but the old sense of noblesse oblige was still there with the royals.) "Do you still lead that group of carolers?"

And that was how it all started. As long as he'd gone to this much trouble, he might as well provide food. That meant calling Granny, who had informed him that, no, a candlelit dinner for two was not the right way to go; he was obliged to feed Santa, the dwarves/elves and the carolers. And, since her grandchild was one of the carolers, they'd already prepared the menu, thank you very much.

The Lucas woman would discover that her rent was going up in January, he decided. Just enough to pay for the refreshments. After all, he was still the Dark One, and the Dark One had a reputation to uphold.

He never did discover who started the "party at Mr. Gold's house; don't tell Belle" whispers. He suspected that it was Ruby, although he supposed it was the sort of thing Jefferson would do. Or Henry. He sighed. Most likely it was Henry, and it wasn't the sort of thing you could turn a child into a toad for. Even if it was tempting.

It was worth the temporary loss of privacy, however, when Belle walked up the sidewalk and he saw the look of surprise and delight on her face. She grinned at him and essayed a perfect repeat of the curtsey she'd made the day he'd given her that rose. He'd been sitting on the porch steps, as far away from the blasted carolers as he could get, and—old war wound be damned—stood up and executed his best imitation of the bow he'd made that day.

"You did all this for me," she said as she joined him on the steps.

"It wasn't that much really."

"Yes, it was. I know how you value your privacy, and half the town's here—Is that Mr. Dove on the roof?"

"I believe so."

"Didn't anyone explain to him that Santa's supposed to be fat?"

"Our Mr. Dove seems to have an unexpected streak of vanity," Gold told her. "Also, I do believe he's developed a bit of a crush on you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rumple."

He grinned. "I'm quite concerned, you know. Good help's so hard to find, and I already made the mistake of firing my caretaker." He leaned toward her and whispered, "The shameful woman was making advances on my person."

"And she may do so again."

"If I'm lucky."

And he thought for a moment, as Belle smiled at him, that he was about to get very lucky indeed. Until, unfortunately, a dwarf-the perpetually cheerful one-interrupted them.

"Hey Belle, Mary Margaret said to tell you that Emma's here."

For a second it looked as though Belle was going to ignore the dwarf, then his words seemed to register with her. "Oh. Oh, Rumple, I have to go talk to Emma for a moment."

And the sheriff's rent was going to triple next month, Gold thought. Plus, wasn't there a clause in the lease about the number of occupants in that apartment? The damn place was swarming with three generations of Charmings at the moment. That certainly warranted a penalty of some kind.

As though the mere thought of Charmings had the power to produce the blasted family, Belle no sooner left than David Nolan sat down beside Rumple. "You're doing fine," he told Gold.

"Did I ask for your advice?" Gold looked down at the cup of eggnog he was holding. He was fairly certain Granny Lucas had spiked it. He couldn't quite decide whether that warranted an increase or a decrease in her rent.

"Yes, actually, you did," David answered. "A couple of months ago, but you did ask. And you're doing fine here." David waved an arm expansively to indicate the crowd that had gathered on Gold's lawn. "Putting all this together just because she'd like it was a great idea. Very romantic."

"Very what?"

"Romantic."

Well, this was a depressing turn of events. It was fine for Belle to think him romantic, but if word got out…. "I, dearie, am the Dark One. The Dark One does not do romantic."

Belle walked back up to him. "Oh, yes, he does," she said. "And he does it quite well."

He shot her the most menacing stare he could come up with, but he just couldn't come up with an effective menacing stare when he was around Belle. "You are determined to ruin my reputation, aren't you?" he asked.

"Possibly," she said. "I just wanted to know if you'd be agreeable to getting your Christmas present today. I mean, I know it's not the 25th yet, but I don't think this particular present can wait."

"But I don't have anything to give you."

Belle smiled. "You just gave me the entire town, Rumple. That's quite a present."

"I didn't so much arrange for them to be here as they just seemed to turn up, Belle. It hardly counts as a gift."

"I disagree. And I think I really do need to give you this gift now."

She turned around and nodded to Emma Swan. Emma nodded back and walked to that infernal Volkswagen of hers. (How had he neglected to notice that she'd parked in his driveway? Oh, that woman's rent was definitely going…)

"Papa!"

Bae climbed out of the back of Emma's car and rushed toward his father. It was Bae, just as he'd looked the last time Rumplestiltskin had seen him, with the exception of some modern clothes the boy had acquired along the way. But it was his Bae, his brave son who had made a deal with that damn Blue Fairy to break the Dark One's hold over his father.

"How…?" Rumple tried to find the words, but all his mind seemed to be able to process was that he was holding his son for the first time in more than two centuries.

It was Belle, of course, who found the words for him. "It was Christmas, you see, and I wanted to get you a gift. But of course the only thing you wanted was to get Baelfire back, and I didn't know how to do that. Only then I met Emma that day in the library, and she was explaining her story to me—how she didn't grow up here—and I realized she could cross the border without losing her memory. Did you know she used to be a bounty hunter, Rumple? She found people for a living. So I asked her to see if she could locate Bae."

"Yeah," Emma said, "looks like I haven't lost the touch. Also, Gold, I got to say that was some impressive timing with your curse. As far as I can tell, your kid got to this world about the same time Henry ate that apple turnover."

Gold had hoped that would be the case, but he hadn't been certain. The curse could have put them all in Storybrooke any time within thirty years of Bae's arrival. As long as Bae had been healthy and happy, Gold would have felt more than blessed to be part of his life again. But to know that he hadn't missed any of Bae's growing up, that had been more of a blessing than he had hoped for. He found his eyes misting up again (not good for his reputation around town, but suddenly he didn't care—the Dark One most certainly did crying on a day such as this) as he thanked Emma.

As for Belle, he'd spend the rest of his life thanking her. At the moment, however, introductions were in order.

"Baelfire," he said, "I'd like you to meet Belle."

"Hello," Bae said. He bowed, the way Rumple remembered having taught him more than two hundred years before. "Princess Emma told me about you on the drive here."

"Hey, kid," Emma interjected. "Remember what I told you? We don't use the whole 'prince' and 'princess' thing here. It's why the people in that foster home kept thinking you were from England." She looked back at Mr. Gold. "It did help make him easier to find though."

"And yet you managed to get across the point that you're from one of the royal families," Gold noted.

"Well, I had to explain how I knew about magic and Rumpelstiltskin and all that, didn't I? And David used to a shepherd over there, so cut the elitest crap."

"Do all children call their parents by their first names here?" Bae asked.

It amazed Gold how quickly his parental instincts kicked back in. "You will not even consider doing that, Baelfire," he said with a smile. "I am still Papa."

Bae looked up at his father, with a hint of mischief in his eyes that Gold remembered all too fondly. "And what should I call Miss Belle?" he asked.

Before he could say anything, Belle answered for him. "Just Belle will be fine," she said.

"For now," Gold added. He turned to Bae and whispered just loud enough for Belle to hear. "I hope you'll be calling her 'Mother' by this time next year."

Belle smiled. "I think actually that I'd prefer to be called 'Mama,' Bae, but we'll leave that up to you."

The End


End file.
